"The mountains are calling, and I must go." —John Muir

Grief (redux)

Touloue

Requiescat in pace

Last night, we had to say good-bye to our dear friend and companion, whom I wrote about in an earlier entry in this blog.

For what it’s worth, we don’t think it was the cancer that finally go to him, but rather that his kidneys finally gave out.

He’s been hyperthyroid for a couple of years, and has been in renal failure for several months requiring regular subcutaneous saline injections (about every 3-4 days), without which he probably would have passed much more quickly and painfully.

The past week he went steadily downhill. Sleeping all the time, barely eating, if at all. No longer talking, no longer purring. We took a couple of days to say our good-byes, then had our veterinarian (Dr. Kris Muscari, of Cottonwood Animal Hospital) come to the house to take away his pain.

A sedative to relax him while we said our final good-bye, then a second massive overdose of phenolbarbitol to put him to sleep. Then Dr. Kris left, to give us a little time to grieve, allowing us to bring him in to the hospital later yesterday evening.

He was so relaxed after he passed, he almost seemed like his normal self again, soft and sleek, no longer tensed up in pain.

Kim and I are both devastated, but we are dealing with it as best as we can, remembering the good times we had with Touloue, how smart he was, how loving he was, and are feeling sorry for everyone who never got the opportunity or privilege to experience him.

We are thankful that we were able to do this at home, and that we were able to spend a last afternoon with him sitting on the couch, in the sun, with him on our laps as we wept and laughed, thanked him for the good times, and said good-bye.

The worst part for me was not hearing his yowl (“feed me, pet me, love me!”) or his purr over the past few days, not going to sleep with him perched on the middle of my chest, not having my alarm cat making sure I got up extra early every morning to feed him (and get ready to go to work). Who needs an alarm clock, when you’ve got Touloue?

So now we re-focus our attentions on our other cats, Penumbra (14, unfortunately also hyperthyroid) and Mona (8, thankfully, with no health issues at this time). Mona has been on the especially short-end of the attention stick the past several months, so we’ve got a lot of make-up time to spend with her.

We should be getting Touloue’s ashes back in a week or so. Kim is unsure what she will do with them, but thinks she may take him back to Sonoma County to let him fly free through the fields around the ranch where they spent so many years.

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2 Comments

hey there – i’m so sorry to hear about the loss of touloue. i can totally relate. you and kim have my deepest sympathies. i’ll give you a call when my lil monsters give me a moments peace… big big hugs!!